


I'm Here Now

by Estrella3791



Category: Marvel's The Avengers - Movies
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, but technically angst comes first, it's a happy-ish ending, there's both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 08:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10460127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791
Summary: After all, she wasn't some teenage girl with a crush. She was Black Widow, spy (not to mention master assassin) extraordinaire, and if she happened to have been in love, what did it matter now?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely people! This is the first work of mine that I'm publishing for the world to see. I can't promise anything, because in all honesty this is not a fantastic piece, but I really hope you like it! If you want to comment or Kudos, that would be AMAZING, but if you don't, don't feel pressured.  
> Enjoy!!! :)

There were very few people in the world who knew anything about Natalia Romanoff at all.  
She was not sentimental. Anyone who knew her even the slightest could tell you that. She was a fighter, and she was merciless. Screams didn’t affect her - except to make her smile. She could break every bone in someone’s body without her expression changing, and people the world over both respected and feared her.  
The Avengers, her pretty much constant companions, knew her a little better. They saw the softness that sometimes shone through the chinks in her stone exterior. Granted, they’d also seen how cold and cruel she could truly be. All in all, though, most of the team prided themselves on being closer to her than most.  
However, the two people in the world who were closest to her were, inarguably, Clint Barton and Bruce Banner. Clint had been her best friend for years, and knew her better than anyone else in the world. Bruce had only known her for a few years, but in that time a mutual respect had grown into something much deeper. Somehow, Bruce seemed to knock down all of her carefully built walls without even trying. She didn’t even know how it had happened, but suddenly he’d meant more to her than almost everyone she knew put together. Her feelings had been reciprocated, and by the time the Battle of Ultron had happened, they’d been head over heels in love.  
But then the bad luck that seemed to follow her into every relationship she had had struck, and Bruce had vanished into a self-imposed exile. It was to protect her, she knew. But she didn’t need protecting, and the event had broken her more than saved her. Clint had never told anyone – including Natasha herself – but he’d heard her crying herself to sleep more than once. She grew pale and drawn, and spent nearly all of her free time destroying punching bags. Steve had told her once that that was how he’d dealt with his feelings after waking up, and she’d taken the idea to heart, ignoring the fact that it hadn’t actually helped him.  
As she threw punch after punch and then added in a kick for good measure, she told herself that she just needed time, that he was a jerk, that she was better off without him, anyway…  
And then she felt a tear trickle down her cheek and leaned against the wall, body sagging in defeat. She hated crying. It made her feel weak. But, she thought bitterly, she was weak. Banner’s disappearance had hurt her more than she’d been hurt in she didn’t know how long. She loved him. She loved him so much, and he was gone, and it hurt.  
But, she told herself firmly as she pulled herself up off of the wall, she would not stay down here and cry like a little girl.  
She considered her options.  
Number one: she could kill herself. Nope. That was not happening. She’d survived way too much to throw her own life away.  
Two, she could run away and start over somewhere else. She’d done it before, and she knew she could do it again. Dye her hair, change her clothes, walk differently, choose a new name. Ugh. She felt exhausted just thinking about it. So that was out.  
Or, three, she could find an actual person to spar with, get her out-of-shape butt kicked, and start working her way back to her version of normality, even if it was without Bruce.  
The thought pained her, but the thought of moping around for the rest of her days pained her more. She heaved a sigh and found her comm.  
“Rogers,” she snapped, “Get yourself down here. I’m feeling restless.”  
She didn’t see the broad smile that commandeered his face at her words, or the little hop in his step as he jogged towards the elevator, but she did see the grin he was wearing as he strode into the training area.  
“It’s been too long, “he said as he ducked under the cords into the ring.  
Natasha heard him, and she knew exactly what he meant. She appreciated the sentiment, too, more than she would care to admit. But when she opened her mouth, ostensibly to say something softer than normal, what came out was, “Too long since what? I whipped your behind into the ground?”  
Oof. That would have hit on two levels: one, that she, a woman, could beat Captain freaking America, and two, blatantly making fun of his aversion to strong language. She half expected him to frown at her, but he chuckled, and there was something in his eyes that told her that he understood what she meant. That was how he was, she reflected as she stepped into the ring. He was so selfless, and kind, and –  
His fist caught her off guard. Strong. He was also strong.  
She scowled as she blocked his next punch and threw one of her own.  
That was what she got for being sentimental.

One triumphant victory (which she totally did not rub in Steve’s face), several new bruises, and a hot shower later, Nat felt more like herself than she had in ages.  
She started to realize just how distant she’d been of late when Clint materialized by her side as soon as she’d closed her bedroom door.  
“Hey,” he said, stopping her as effectively as if he’d smacked her in the face. “You okay?”  
He searched her eyes intently, concern evident in his own. She felt her lips quirk up into a smile, and she was surprised to find that it was genuine.  
“I’m fine, Clint,” she said, and it was true.  
“Good,” he said, and patted her shoulder paternally. “Good.

All over the Tower, people commented on how god she looked and how nice it was to see her until Natasha began to wonder if it had really been that bad. Three “You’re out and about! That’s great!”’s later, and she was slowly but surely becoming convinced that it had indeed been that bad. She’d been silent and sad, never speaking unless spoken to, and smiling even less than she spoke. She’d been acting like a heartbroken teenager. It was pathetic, and she felt disgusted with herself for sinking so low. But it was over now, and, she promised herself as she swiped her I.D. card and walked into her office, she wouldn’t let herself do it again. After all, she wasn’t some lovesick teenage girl with a crush. She was Black Widow, spy (not to mention master assassin) extraordinaire, and if she happened to have been in love, what did it matter now? He was gone, and she was moving on, and it was over.  
She sighed in contentment as she walked into the office. Sliding into the chair felt like coming home.  
It was a very little known fact that Natasha actually had her own office. She paid a few bills and surfed the internet and checked email. And she kind of hated it. Not the work itself, but the reason she was in there.  
A few months ago, Steve had tiptoed into her room to wake her up for a mission. She, being Natasha Romanoff, had flipped him over and pinned him to the wall. After that, he’d dragged her in to see a psychiatrist, insisting that ‘time in the field can mess up your mind’ and crap like that. The psychiatrist said that she had PTSD (to which she could only shake her head. Of course she had PTSD! Have you seen some of the stuff she’s had to deal with?) and recommended something mundane and methodical to calm her down.  
So here she was, doing paperwork.  
Or not.  
She furtively glanced around, which was silly. The office had a state of the art security system, and she’d locked the door. She shook her head at herself, and then reached over to the stack of full envelopes on her desk to begin one of her favorite pastimes – reading fan mail.  
It wasn’t something that she did very often (She liked to think that she was confident, but not conceited, and she wanted very much to keep it that way.), but today she felt like a pick-me-up, and the emails and letters admiring her awesomeness always cheered her up.  
She opened the one on top first, and smiled to herself as she unfolded a small aspiring artist’s masterpiece; blotches of red and black paint in such proportion that you could just recognize the black as her suit and the red as her hair. There was From Louise written across the top in blue pen, with lopsided letters and the shaky spacing of a first grader. That one went in the drawer where all the drawings went.  
Next she opened an actual letter. This one went on for almost three pages, all of which gushed about how ‘amazing’ and ‘cool’ and ‘incredible’ she was, in addition to being, apparently, ‘drop dead gorgeous’ and ‘crazy smart.’ She had to admit that being showered in compliments for a whole letter did wonders for the ego, and she was feeling pretty good about herself as she picked up the next epistle.  
She should have known better than to get so self-satisfied. When she smoothed out the paper, what she saw wiped the grin off of her face and sucked the air from her lungs.  
It was a painting. This one wasn’t done in crayon or finger paint. This was professional watercolor – professional brushes, too, Natasha guessed – and it looked so real that she felt like she could step into the paper.  
It was a drawing of her and Bruce. Well, she supposed that she should say the Hulk, because that’s technically who it was. The creature depicted was big and green and strong. But when she looked closely, she could see brown eyes, those beautiful brown eyes that always made her heart speed up just a bit. Hulk was leaning down towards a slender red-haired woman that Natasha instinctively knew was herself, even though she couldn’t see the face. Their hands were intertwined, and there was an expression of… dare she call it tenderness? on the broad face.  
She felt a tear slide down her cheek and dashed it away, forcing thoughts of Hulk and Bruce and anything that might have been out of her mind. She’d just gotten her emotions under control when Steve’s voice crackled over the comm.  
“Nat? Fury wants to see you in his office ASAP.”  
She picked up the device.  
“Okay.” She almost put it back on the desk but then lifted it to her mouth again. “Rogers?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Thanks.”  
She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “You’re welcome,” and it made her smile, too. She shook her head as she stood up. Rogers was going to end up killing her reputation.

Fury was in a good mood.  
“It’s good to see you out and about, Agent Romanoff.”  
She rolled her eyes.  
“If I hear that one more time…”Fury chuckled and she raised an eyebrow.“I wasn’t joking.”  
He shrugged and picked up a file.  
“How do you feel about South America, Agent?”  
She raised the other eyebrow.  
“I’ve heard that it gets a little ‘Chile,’” she quipped.  
Fury groaned.  
“You’ve been hanging around Stark too much,” he grumbled as he handed her the folder.  
She smirked and opened the file, scanning the information. Her eyes widened slightly and she looked up at Fury.  
“Sir?”  
Staring up at her from the picture fastened to the inside of the folder was Bruce, brown eyes sparkling as he laughed at something the cameraman (probably Tony) had said. Fury nodded.  
“We’re pretty sure that he ran back to Brazil after he crashed,” he said. “We’re not one hundred percent positive, but we’d like someone to go check it out.”  
She looked back at the photo.  
“When do I leave?”

The plane ride went smoothly – no explosions or shootings – and Natasha was currently walking through a busy marketplace, trying to brush up on her Spanish. (It wasn’t that hard - she’d been fluent for years – but she wanted to make sure that she wouldn’t slip up when she started asking about Bruce. Faltering could brand her as a tourist, and that was not what she wanted. She’d just gotten as far as asking for the nearest doctor when she heard a familiar ruckus behind her.  
Screams and growls were followed by loud crashes and a few yells. Hulk was smashing.  
Running in the direction of the noise, she started seeing signs of destruction. A crumpled car here, a destroyed house there. Not too bad…but not too good, either.  
As she got closer, debris was flying. Telephone poles and vehicles and… was that a fruit stand? Either way, she slowed down as she approached, and held her breath as she rounded the last corner.  
There he was. The Other Guy, in all his green and brawny glory, was staring down some kids who looked like they’d been stupid enough to challenge him. She briefly considered just letting the Hulk go (anyone dumb enough to throw a textbook at a giant green monster was probably never going to contribute much to society), but then decided that neither S.H.I.E.L.D. nor Bruce himself would be very happy about that.  
“Hey, Big Guy!” she called across the plaza. H turned around to stare at her. Time seemed to slow down as her heart speed up. This was it. This was the ultimatum. Either he’d kill her or she’d take him home. She took a deep breath and spoke. “The sun’s getting real low,” she said. He started walking toward her. She tried not to think about the fact that he could break most of the bones in her body with just a swipe of his huge hand and held up her own, trying to keep it from trembling. His face softened, and he reached down to touch her fingers.  
“Tasha,” he rumbled, and she felt herself melting inside.  
“It’s me,” she said softly, not even trying to hide her surprise at the fact that he knew her name.  
“Tasha,” he said again, and this time his voice was less rough. She looked up into soft brown eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Bruce was coming back. Hulk took a step away from her and she began to worry about what he’d do, but he only shrank down into the Doctor who was his alter ego.  
“Natasha,” he said, and it was little more than a whisper. She wouldn’t have heard him if she hadn’t been listening.  
He looked awful. He was severely underweight – thinner than she’d ever seen him – and fear, heartbreak, and disappointment all swirled together in his eyes. She had to blink back tears at the transition from the happy doctor to this malnourished man.  
“Bruce,” she said, and she didn’t even think before pulling him into her arms. “I missed you,” she said, and her voice cracked and she didn’t care. For a moment Bruce sat stiffly in her embrace. But then when she kissed his temple he buried his face in her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist and started to cry.  
“I’m sorry, Nat. I’m so sorry…” the words trailed off into sobs, and she started rocking him like an infant, crooning to him.  
“It’s all right. I’m here now.”  
He looked at her, and it hit her that he wore his emotions on his face. It was like reading a book. He was terrified. He was scared that she would stay but even more scared that she would leave. He didn’t want to hurt her but he wanted her there. He was worried that she’d be angry with him because he’d left, and he felt unbearably guilty for abandoning her like that. It was a valid concern, because part of her was angry with him. She’d loved him and he’d left her and it had made her more vulnerable than she’d been since she was a child, and that had made her angry. But when she looked at those brown eyes and that guilty and hopeful and exhausted face, and felt those thin arms clinging to her like she was his lifeline, she wasn’t angry anymore.  
“I’m here now,” she said again. “And I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
